Speech Therapy
by GlassBomb
Summary: They had nine minutes to live, and he still couldn't say it. Slash, involving Chazz, Jimmy, a deep freeze, humour, pneumonia, sex and chains.


**Author note: Hello guys! I watched this film recently, and I absolutely adored it. I thought 'god, what a fantastic gay couple' – hence this. :D This just spawned from my warped imagination, and kind of took on a life of its own towards the end. My version of a serious slash fic, but of course it can't be entirely serious because it's not a serious film.**

**Well, that's my excuse anyway. :D I've tried to keep everyone as much in character as possible, but let me know what you think. Toodles! X**

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When Chazz Michael Michaels wanted to say something, he came straight out with it, and to hell with anyone who didn't like it - why should it bother him? He was a simplistic guy, and the way he saw it, if everyone was as fiery, sexy and open-minded as _he_ was, the world might not necessarily be a better place, but it would certainly be a whole hell of a lot more goddamned _fun_. If everyone was as sharp, witty, handsome and tolerant as him, everyone could go out for a pint of beer the size of Canada and gel more platonically, romantically and most importantly _sexually - _and in his eyes, that was a pretty damn awesome world.

But in spite of his personal mantras of a complete lack of tact and a painfully straightforward approach to life, there were three frigging words that he just could not bring himself to say to the man he was currently tied back-to-back with.

He couldn't, no matter how hard he tried - and he was trying so damn hard that it was slaughtering the few remaining brain cells that had survived the onslaught of years of alcohol, skating injuries and lust - tell the best friend he had ever had that he was in love with him. Jimmy MacElroy was his partner, his brother (well, sort of - he wasn't half as weird as the bastards who had kidnapped them) and his world, and he couldn't even tell him how he felt when they were about to die.

They had ten minutes to live - which was usually the timeframe and philosophy Chazz existed on, but it was unnerving to actually _have_ to exist on it; once they'd been bailed by a rich aunt, Stranz and Fairchild had wasted no time in exacting their revenge in a typically twisted manner by forcing their rivals to strip at gunpoint, step into a deep-freeze and set a timer for the thing to explode in two hours. At the time, it had made Chazz laugh - how ironic it was that they would die in the temperature they had built their dreams upon. If there was a more nauseating way to destroy lives, he simply couldn't be arsed to think of it. It was the sort of thing he'd have done to someone who stole his latest mind-blowing hooker, because if he was honest with himself, he was a bit of a jealous bastard.

But to have it done to him and Jimmy was just plain damn _wrong_.

And despite the rapidly diminishing moments, Chazz still couldn't say it. They'd made small talk for the past hour and fifty-one minutes - damn that big fuck-off timer for reminding him of his imminent death! - and had now reached a natural lull in conversation. It was ridiculously rare for Chazz to stay silent for any period of time that didn't involve sleeping or downing some alcoholic concoction that would decimate his stomach lining in order to win twenty dollars, but now he had only really had one thing left to say.

He had nine minutes until he died, for god's sakes - even if Jimmy didn't reciprocate his love, it wasn't like the guy was going to run away and refuse to speak to him forever due to the terror induced only by talking to someone who fancied the living shit out of you when you thought they were the most disgusting thing you'd ever seen. He couldn't anyway; the room had been locked down, and even if it hadn't, the crazy bastards had tied them to a discarded anchor in the far corner of the deep freeze with chains. They had trouble moving much at all, never mind breaking free.

Perhaps he couldn't say it because he couldn't follow it up with a delicious kiss that re-affirmed his love and need for the effeminate skater.

It could plausibly be to do with the fact that being gay - even if it _was _only for Jimmy, who was probably secretly a woman anyway - disturbed him, the ultimate pin-up and ladies man, a whole hell of a lot.

Or maybe he was just too much of a damn coward.

_Hurray, give him another gold! _His mind sniped sarcastically, indicating that he'd hit the metaphorical nail on the head. Chazz growled softly, his teeth clenched.

_No one mocks Chazz Michael Michaels_, he snarled at his inner voice. _Not even Chazz Michael Michaels!_

He nudged Jimmy, determined to prove his point and finally confess his feelings.

"Hey, Jimmy!" He unnecessarily yelled at the man who was right next to him, raising an eyebrow when he received no answer.

"Turdface!" He tried, and when he was once again greeted solely by silence, he craned round his neck to the best of his ability, and his eyes widened by what he could just about see.

Jimmy was slumped against him, seemingly unconscious - he snored, which was the only giveaway to the fact that he wasn't asleep - and shivering badly.

"Jimmy?" He murmured in panic, confused as hell - something was clearly wrong, but what was it? What the fuck had happened to him? Why was he so damn _thick_?!

"THINK, DAMMIT!" He bellowed at himself, the giant timer ticking over to eight minutes as he desperately contemplated what was wrong with his partner. His growing hysteria did nothing to help his brain, which was far from ingenious at the best of times.

"It's cold, right?" He murmured aloud, realising how stupid that sounded. "Yes, it's frigging cold, you asshole - check out your goosebumps!"

He glanced at his own body with a vague curiosity, finally realising that he was, in fact, goddamn _freezing._

"So it's so cold I can't even get sexually aroused although we're almost naked," he summarised, staring around the meat storage container they were sat on the iced floor of. "That's never happened before…"

As he took in his surroundings, Chazz became aware that in the past hour and fifty-three minutes, nothing had changed - it was the still the same damn giant freezer without his favourite ice cream, with the same handcuffs and ropes that were so tight they couldn't even stand up and attempt to annihilate the door, with the same poor illumination (surely steak would taste better with some ambient lighting, he'd wondered forty-six minutes ago) and the same bleak décor that screamed out for a paintbrush, a pot of rainbow paint, a mansion-load of glitter, a handful of wall-mounted guitars and half an hour out of Chazz's busy schedule.

So logic dictated that Jimmy's problem was the temperature rather than anything in the surroundings.

_Of course it's the frigging temperature! _His brain screamed. _He's thinner and less muscular than you - it's freezing him to death, and you're sitting here working out what's wrong! Warm him up and get him talking, you idiot!_

"Death?" Chazz whispered fearfully, shuddering in a way that had nothing to do with the below freezing temperatures of the oversized icebox. "But… he can't. I don't care if I'm going to die in seven minutes - I can't lose him until that damn glorified TNT or whatever the hell it is blows pieces of me straight up to the goddamned Pearly Gates! JIMMY!"

The yell of his friend's name was a simultaneous plea and order, and when after several moments Jimmy didn't move, fear choked the improvisational skater.

"No, you _can't_," he begged in a most uncharacteristic voice, looping his arms around the sides of the younger man from the neck downwards, ignoring the bolts of agony that cascaded through his limbs at the unnatural angle. Grabbing him as best he could, Chazz's large hands held him upright against his own spine, and he desperately hoped the warmth would transfer.

"This'd better work, because it frigging hurts," he muttered, eyes screwing shut against the coursing pain of almost dislocating both his arms - because if there was one thing Chazz Michael Michaels would never do, it was cry. Oh hell no. He'd rather die.

_Great joke_, his mind commented acidly, and he snarled.

"Piss off," he snapped, steeling himself for what he was about to do - inhaling heavily, he manoeuvred his arms to almost entirely wrap themselves around the unconscious skater, and both of his shoulders clicked ominously.

"Oh, that can't be g - JESUS CHRIST!"

Chazz almost screamed as the discomfort crashed straight from 'pain' to 'Fairchild breaking an ankle', and he gritted his teeth to stop a gasp of agony.

"Wake UP, you son of a bitch!" He roared at his partner, a vague thought passing through his mind that he'd never be able to pick the idiot up in the rink again because his arms would be bent at permanent obtuse angles. Even with all his skating experience and that three-month therapeutic sex spa trip where he'd been taught a hybrid hippy form of relaxation Pilates from this hot chick who worked wonders with a cocktail shaker - paid for half by his victory in Boston's event over Jimmy and half via his successful pornographic career - he very much doubted he'd be able to hold this position for much longer.

The red digits of the clock flashed up at him, informing him that there were five minutes between him and the hellfires of Satan's lava lather bathtub, and he attempted to inspire Jimmy's uncooperative form to regain consciousness.

"You are _such _an ass," he informed his friend, and his tone was virtually affectionate. "Who else ends up fainting in a freezer? Only a complete fag. I'll let you in on a little secret though, and because you're not awake, you can have it for free - I don't want to die alone. God, if the fans could see me now - 'The Lone Wolf', looking for company. I'd never get a fifteen-dollar whore again."

The prospect of no cheap sex threatening to push him over the edge of sanity, he swallowed harshly and briskly moved on.

"Makes me a bit of a selfish bastard, doesn't it? You're better off asleep for our death, but that'd be too… _selfless_ for me. God, _I'm_ an ass as well, but I can live with that as long as you're a bigger ass. Just do me one last thing before we die, yeah? It's easier than oral sex on a beach."

Sighing, his eyes burning with tears that were not all down to the agony pulsating through his biceps, he leant over to Jimmy's cheek.

"Don't leave me," he whispered candidly, pressing a quick but meaningful kiss to the snowy, exposed cheekbone. "Just… _don't_. Please. You're all I have, and I…"

His lips suddenly refused to move, and he thought for a moment that he'd spontaneously developed lockjaw.

"… Forget it," he muttered eventually. "But really… come back, preferably before I lose all the feeling in my arms, because that would kind of suck. I know we can't get out - we can't even get up because that bitch tied us to a goddamn anchor, and the door's sealed anyway - but I… can't live without you, and I can't die without you, 'cos you're my best friend and I miss you and I… _need you_, Jimmy. I need you to punch me in my crap lousy face just so I know that I'm not freezing to death and three and a half minutes away from being seeded grape juice on my own."

The pain dulled to a harsh, icy burn as he reverse-hugged the man he loved more tightly, desperate to hold back the tears and the fear that threatened to destroy his mind.

"C'mon buddy," he encouraged, rubbing his skin in a way that anyone who half as sexually-minded as himself would have seen as blatantly provocative; he cursed his own thrill, reminding his severely overactive imagination that just this once, it wasn't about achieving the best orgasm possible. "Punch me, you prick_… please_…"

Chazz was so preoccupied with the task at hand that he didn't notice Jimmy move until he felt a pathetically weak blow strike his cheek with so little force that a termite would have escaped it unscathed - but it didn't matter, because the little shit had _moved_, and Chazz hadn't been so happy since that threesome with those two hot blondes post-Boston.

"Jimmy, you're _alive!" _He exclaimed jubilantly, and despite the fact that that novelty wasn't going to last the next one hundred and eighty seconds, he couldn't prevent the grin that spread across his face and the relief that coursed through his frame.

"Kind of," Jimmy mumbled weakly, casting a fogged eye at the timer and sighing heavily. "For the next two m-m-minutes and f-forty nine s-s-seconds anyway…"

"Oh, who CARES?" Chazz replied cheerfully, and Jimmy raised an eyebrow that he couldn't see.

"Uhh, I k-kind of d-d-do…" he stammered, his teeth chattering and his entire body feeling like someone had just whacked a sledgehammer across it eighteen times. He longed to close his eyes, but from the few words he had caught from his partner, he had been worried about him - and he didn't like to inconvenience anyone.

"Yeah, me too actually."

"Then w-what was the p-p-point -"

His faded voice was cut off by a violent sneeze that shook the tiny icicles he hadn't even noticed from his nose, and he spent his remaining reserves of energy on merely staying conscious to speak to his friend.

"Ch-Chazz?"

"Yeah Jimmy?" His partner replied, and he still sounded ludicrously happy. Rolling his tired eyes and being almost grateful that he only had to feel this shit for the next two minutes, the blonde shook his head gently in order to banish his mental fog before opening his mouth, feeling distinctly light-headed.

"I th-think I've g-g-got pneumonia m-m-man."

"Dude, that sucks," he clucked sympathetically, and Jimmy could feel him tense up. "I hate to ruin your day even more, but I really need to move my damn arms…"

It was a mark of Jimmy's less-than-awake mind that he hadn't noticed his best friend's arms awkwardly embracing him, and he looked down in disgust at the strange angles of the limbs.

"D-doesn't th-that _hurt_?" He queried morbidly.

"Slightly," the older man admitted, wrenching up his arms with to a inharmonious chorus of sharply clicking joints.

"_Holy mother of Mary!"_

"Dude, y-you alright?" Jimmy asked in concern, now wide awake and wondering why the hell he'd been embraced.

"Peachy," Chazz answered weakly, wishing he'd kept his arms where they were - for both emotional and physical reasons, because now it felt like a dominatrix had skinned his limbs alive and was running a red hot poker seductively across the muscles. "Just… damn… _peachy_."

The effeminate blonde chuckled, but it did not sway his curiosity.

"W-why were y-you h-h-hugging m-me, anyway?" He asked quietly, not really wishing to invade his fellow skater's soul; if he'd been scared of dying alone, then that was fine. That, however, wasn't really how Chazz Michael Michaels rolled.

"I m-mean, d-d-don't g-get m-me wrong - I d-don't mind. It w-was actually almost c-cute, b-but -"

Chazz tensed for an entirely different reason that didn't involve the self-repair of his arms, realising that there were many ways to answer that question and that none of them would actually leave his lips.

_Because I'm in love with you._

_Because you're the best friend I've ever had._

_Because I need you to be safe, because when you're not, I can't think straight._

_Because I was terrified of dying alone._

_Because you're everything to me._

_Because it didn't matter that I was going to die - all that mattered is that YOU were._

_Because all the sex, alcohol, ice, hookers and gold medals mean nothing unless you're here to tell everything to when the hangover's bearable._

"Because you were cold, you moron."

Chazz cursed himself inwardly, the timer ticking over to a minute to detonation.

"Oh," he said simply, sounding almost disappointed. "F-fifty s-six seconds, m-m-man. I should thank you."

"Why, for being the selfish stud I am and waking you up with three and a half to death?"

In spite of his predicament, an indulgent smile wrapped itself around the blonde's lips.

"No, b-but th-thanks f-for that t-too, you douche."

Chazz laughed, the gesture ringing with bitterness.

"Don't mention it," he replied quietly, smirking.

"I m-m-meant for h-helping me t-to w-win gold again," Jimmy corrected simply, his tone laced with such gratitude that it brought tears to his friend's eyes.

_Shit, I've never felt so GAY, _Chazz lamented with an internal grimace.

"Right back at ya, buddy," he replied with equal sincerity, eternally thankful that his partner couldn't see just how grateful he was, because that would have become permanent mockery material.

Sighing aloud as he watched the timer hit forty seconds with a morbid fascination, Chazz realised that time hadn't flown so quickly since those eye-opening and mind-blowing sixty minutes he'd spent with that eight hundred dollar-an-hour dominatrix a few years back.

"There's so much I still had to do," he informed the elegant guy against him regretfully. "I've never tried position sixty-eight in the Japanese XXX Kama Sutra, because I've never found anyone batshit insane enough to try screwing me upright during a parachute jump. I've never gotten hammered off a French beer. I've never tried to lick my own elbow, not even when I was really bored. I've never joined the elusive ranks of the three-mile-high club because I'm pretty sure I haven't flown three miles high. I've never mastered that new frigging thing Coach tried to teach us because I didn't want to make you sound like even more of a girl by cutting your testicles off mid-competition. There's so much crazy shit I haven't tried, Jimmy."

Silence reigned for several seconds, before Jimmy said, the grin clear in his freshly rejuvenated voice, "dude, not even _I_ could get hammered off French beer."

"Damn right," Chazz retorted, chuckling. "Weak as piss."

"Disgusting stuff," Jimmy agreed, and Chazz quirked an eyebrow, intending to mercilessly tease his partner in that way he found so amusing.

"Like you've ever gotten hammered anyway. I bet you've never drunk anything more hardcore than a cream soda in your life."

"I so have!" The blonde huffed furiously, rather put out, his ridiculously low body temperature quite forgotten in the heat of competition. "I drank a ginger beer at skating practice when I was eight, so screw you Michaels!"

With twenty seconds left to live, Chazz Michael Michaels burst out laughing, and didn't bother stopping for eight whole seconds, the amusement relaxing him exponentially and strengthening his resolve.

"You _nerd_," he eventually choked out, still laughing in a manner that was akin to that of a serial killer. "You absolute frigging _dork, _MacElroy."

"Shut it, fatass," Jimmy muttered, now giggling himself - which only served to set Chazz off more. Breathing deeply to regain control, he couldn't quite banish the smile as the countdown from ten began.

"Hey, Jimmy?"

"Yeah, Chazz?"

"… Thanks. I don't ever thank people, but seriously… thanks buddy."

Jimmy was silent for a whole precious second, before murmuring "what for?" with no small amount of humility in his tone.

"Everything," Chazz said simply, softly, leaning against him gently in an effort to provide both the skater and himself with a sense of comfort in the last five seconds of their physical existence. He wanted to say more, but he had no time, and he'd just summed his gratitude up quite eloquently.

"You too," Jimmy murmured kindly, absolutely serious. "See you in hell, yeah?"

Chazz chuckled, nodding in agreement.

"Last one at the bar's a loser?"

"Damn straight."

"I'll order you a ginger beer then," Chazz commented dryly, and Jimmy chuckled.

"Oh, and MacElroy?" He added desperately, kicking down the door of the Last Chance Saloon as the clock sped down to the final second. This was it - there was nothing left to lose, and he was past the point of giving a shit if the guy returned his feelings or not. What did it matter now anyway?

"Yeah, Michaels?"

Finally finding the relevant courage, Chazz inhaled sharply and simply voiced his adoration, his tone uncharacteristically tender.

"… I love you, you goddamned sexy son of a bitch."

Jimmy's eyes barely had time to widen in utter shock as Chazz, defiantly ignoring the retained lancing agony of his clavicle, shoved the weaker man onto his back in a futile gesture of protection and just managed to envelope him as the timer ran out and a menacing series of up-tempo beeps rang around the deep freeze.

Chazz's eyes squeezed shut, not wishing to bear witness to his flawless body being shredded to bite-sized cubes of perfection, and not particularly fancying watching it happen to Jimmy either; an echo of resonating screeches rent the air, almost decimating his eardrums as they whizzed, fizzed, squealed and finally exploded. Genuinely terrified, Chazz felt Jimmy tense beneath him in equal horror, and he waited with bated breath to become a new flavour of jam.

And waited.

… And waited a bit longer…

"What the hell?" he whispered, the terror ebbing away in favour of complete bewilderment and, hardly daring to hope, he forced open an eyelid in horrific anticipation…

… Just in time to see a newly dead firework's embers burning away a giant, brightly-coloured poster that clearly stated "Top THAT, fags!", residing innocently to his left.

The reality of their situation slammed into the professional skater, and even as he felt relief wash over him, an anger so deep that it was matched only in the rare instance of a Texan stealing his beer and his nightly hooker burned through his bloodstream.

"… BASTARDS!"

"Chazz?" Jimmy's muffled voice asked, still sounding terrified; Chazz merely responded by pushing himself forwards and therefore taking Jimmy with him and pointing mutely at the incinerating paper, not trusting himself to speak lest he combust into a fiery rage.

"What the h - no, you're kidding me. You're not ser -"

Chazz merely nodded; he had never want perform a botched Iron Lotus on anyone so much in his life. He swore to god, when he got hold of them… that suffocating terror he had felt at losing Jimmy to the sub-zero temperatures, the dislocation of his arms, his own stabbing cold pain and the anxiety that had left the pair of them so afraid… had all been for nothing.

" … YOU ARE FRIGGING KIDDING ME!"

Chazz shook his head, flexing his fists in sheer rage.

"… BASTARDS!" Jimmy stormed, but his own torrent of fury was interrupting by the door swinging open with an almighty crash.

"What the _hell_ are you two doing here?!" A furious voice yelled across the deep freeze, and Chazz was so livid that he couldn't even welcome the guy who was standing in the doorframe (he made a mental note to thank him for preventing the worsening of Jimmy's condition after he'd decapitated Stranz and Fairchild) with his hands on his hips and an infuriated expression that, even as he watched, turned into a twist of horror at what he was witnessing.

"COACH!" Jimmy enthused in delight, but Robert completely ignored the pair of them, his eyes rolling disdainfully.

"… Actually, no - I'm sure I could guess," he remarked dryly, taking in the almost nakedness of the duet and the chains that enveloped them. "I've been trying to call you for three damn hours, you asses, and you're having a goddamn _icegasm_!"

Chazz sighed in frustration, too pissed off to be able to articulate their scenario - _if only_, his mind muttered longingly.

"H-how d-d-did you f-find us?" Jimmy asked in genuine curiosity, and the return of his stutter reminded Chazz that he wasn't in the greatest of shapes - the fact that he'd just shoved him face first onto the ice probably hadn't done the guy any favours either.

"That phone I got you for your twenty-first, Einstein," their coach reminded him peevishly, "it's got GPS en -"

A sneeze and a violent shiver rent the air, and Chazz's rage melted somewhat to concern.

"Get him out of here," he heard his voice say quietly, his characteristic bravado unheard. "Now, coach."

Robert's eyebrow raised, and he merely nodded, turning to go back his car before his eyes spotted something in the corner of the deep freeze.

"Bingo," he muttered to himself with a small smile, jogging over to a huge axe that lay discarded on the opposite side of the room. Jimmy followed his line of sight, and his usually pale skin whitened further.

"Are y-you _s-s-serious_?!" He cried, horror eclipsing his features.

"Got any better ideas?"

Jimmy's silence told him that he hadn't.

"Didn't think so," Robert replied smugly, wielding the axe and advancing on the pair. "You might want to move up a bit, guys."

"I can't teleport on Wednesdays - it's an official rule," Chazz sniped, shifting along the ice to the best of his ability as Jimmy did the same. Chazz felt the loss of physical contact quite harshly after the afternoon's torment, but apparently not as harsh as Jimmy found it, for he gave his partner a subtle squeeze on the arm before they moved the only few plausible inches possible. Chazz nearly smiled, and would have had it not been for his lingering anger and worry; oh, if only he _knew_…

The alarm bells blazed an epic symphony of Star Spangled Banner inside his head as he remembered.

_Shit - he DOES know!_

"Fuck," he cursed simply, and Robert mistook the dread that his features wore as fear over his raised axe.

"I'll try not to cut your head off Michaels," the coach quipped in amusement, and as he swung the implement downwards, the improvisor suddenly realised what the hell he was doing.

"_Jesus Christ_!"

The axe swept intricately between the two skaters, leaving a miniscule but welcome rush of warm air in its wake, and smacked straight downwards, landing with a dull clunk that scared the shit out of Jimmy. He cowered, and just about dared to take a peek at the chains.

"Well, could have been better," Robert summarised with a shrug, and the blonde heard his partner give a dramatic sigh.

"Regular genius," he snapped coolly. "We're going to be here forever, aren't we? Goodbye orgasms, goodbye fans, see ya later alcohol, ciao gold - the Chazzle Dazzle's dying on ice."

The blade had severed the ropes, but the chains still remained very much intact.

"Don't be so negative!" Robert chastised, kneeling down to loosen the chains manually. "This shouldn't take long, the ropes were the major connection and we just need to loosen these a bit… what the hell were you both _thinking_?"

"That he was going to die," came the unified response, albeit Jimmy's possessing slightly less linguistic finesse due to the incessant chattering of his perfect teeth.

Robert desisted insistently, and merely stared between the duo, his expression stunned. Chazz and Jimmy, movement now less of a problem, turned to the best of their abilities and met one another's eyes.

"_Seriously_?" Chazz enquired, and he'd rarely been so serious in his life.

"Well… yeah," Jimmy answered awkwardly, and Chazz gave a terribly hypocritical smirk.

"Fag."

"Says you!"

"Yeah, says me - so pay attention 'cos this time next year, it'll be gospel."

"Is that your weirdo way of asking me to marry you?"

"_What_?!" Robert interjected with disgust, and Chazz actually stopped dead, astonished.

"… What would you say if it was?" He asked, breaking out of their bitching session to be genuine for a moment, waiting for the response on tenterhooks.

"I'd say you were a fag."

"Not worth it," he replied immediately, and Jimmy almost broke the serious nature of the discussion to grin.

"Shame," he retorted.

"Well, I mean… would you?" Chazz almost stuttered, suddenly nervous, hoping desperately that his partner wasn't just joking about this.

"I might do, yeah…"

"Will you then?"

Chazz's breath hitched in his throat as he waited for a response; god, what the hell was he _doing?_

_The right thing for the first time ever, _his heart chorused with a light smattering of applause, and he smiled within.

_Shut up._

"… Yeah."

"_Really?"_

"Yeah, really."

"Oh, _Jimmy_!"

They spontaneously locked lips, and Robert could not have been more confused if someone had given him a million dollars to be so.

"Did you two just… _get engaged_?"He enquired, dumbfounded, and he noticed Jimmy vaguely nod through the kiss.

"I'm hopin' so," Chazz muttered offhandedly, and Jimmy laughed into his mouth.

"Brilliant," the coach deadpanned, his eyes wide. "Absolutely frigging brilliant."

"Couldn't agree more," the former porn star concurred, "as long as he's in a wedding dress."

"What, so I can be your fetish toy?" Jimmy replied hotly, pressing his forehead to Chazz's with a large grin enveloping his mouth. "Don't think so."

"Bitch."

"Damn straight!"

The new couple giggled like schoolchildren, and Robert's eyes almost rolled out of their sockets.

"Shall I just leave you here for a few weeks?" He asked sarcastically, and Chazz looked up for a moment, utterly serious.

"Well," he said thoughtfully, "I've always kinda liked bondage…"

"But I'm _cold_, Chazz!"

"Hilarious how you've suddenly become freezing again," Chazz muttered, beaming. "If I didn't know any better, I'd say you were faking it."

"Maybe I just want you to be my nurse for the day…"

"Good, because I've got the perfect way to warm you up."

"Oh GOD," Robert protested, loosening the chains up significantly to allow them freedom to escape should they desire it, looking completely nauseated. "I really didn't need to know, Michaels!"

"Wasn't asking you to listen," he retorted cheerily, his eyes never leaving Jimmy's, who erupted into laughter at the comment.

"Sorry coach," the blonde apologised with a smile, turning to him. Robert waved a nonchalant hand, Jimmy's words having no comforting effect whatsoever.

"Whatever," he muttered, his face ashen. "See you in two hours or something, yeah?"

"Make it three," Chazz piped up, and Jimmy grinned.

"Mmmm," the coach murmured, standing up and exiting quickly, propping a stray barrel against the door as he left and casting a parting glance at his embracing pairs team. He heard Jimmy telling Chazz that he loved him too, and he sighed in acceptance. It wasn't like he could do anything about it; he just truly didn't care to know.

"Whatever," he repeated softly, almost smiling, leaving the deep freeze entirely.


End file.
